Sassarassafrassin'

I seem to remember a time when knitting was a soothing, meditative, and exceedingly enjoyable way to pass the time. New projects held all the excitement to be found in selecting just the right color from the rainbow of hues available, and picking just the right texture and weight of yarn by perusing, with eye and hand, the trove of treasures available at my several lys's. Having drooled over the pattern for days, weeks, or months, finally settling in, often with brand new needles, to create the long longed for object brought a soft rush of mingled excitement, satisfaction, and anticipation. The occasional gentle challenges set forth by the new pattern were merely opportunities for learning, and then basking in the satisfying glow earned by figuring out a small mystery and mastering the new technique all on your own.

It was all a horrible fraud, wasn't it, designed to lure an unsuspecting dupe into a nefarious addiction to needle and fiber?! An addiction so deep and inescapable that there's no turning back even when the yarn produces nothing but frustration and ever stronger cravings! There's no fix that satisfies any more. Every taste leaves me strung out and sick. Sick, man!!!

I'm at the same point on the corset. Can you tell? WTF? I do, however, have a new excuse -- I mean theory. The problem is not me, but my schedule. Lately there doesn't seem to be any knitting time but brief snatches on a commute that is broken up among a bus, a subway, and lots of standing around waiting in between. None of this is conducive to finishing a lace pattern that, for whatever reason, stymies my apparently limited brain-to-hand coordination. I must finish something or die. It's that simple. I've got to start something new, as well, cost and time be damned. I'm going to the Cape (avec Monsieur I. - more on that later no doubt) for a couple of days next week. I've got to sort something out before then. If I have to lock myself in the bathroom -- well, ok, maybe the garden -- and ignore cat, computer, crisis-ridden friends, whatever, I WILL find a chunk of time to work out my problems with this miserable torture instrument disguised as a knitting pattern -- I mean this beautiful, lovingly crafted project. As a friend of mine used to say, something's gotta give, and it ain't gonna be me.

She means to be helping: